


Of Men and Elves

by MashpotatoeQueen5



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: And Thranduil is just about ready to do anything for his son, And done a thousand times before, Angst, Anyone even thinking about hurting his kid has another thing coming to them, Anyways, But it's also crazy fun to write, But they aren't the focus point of the story, Caring Thranduil, Elves, Fever, Fight Scenes, Fighting, Gen, Humans, Humans and Elves, Hurt Legolas, Hurt/Comfort, I did my best, I don't know why it's so much fun to write, I know this is a massive trope, I'm not sure how well I did, Illness, Infection, Legolas attracts trouble like moths to a flame, Like, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Orcs, Parent Thranduil, Pre-Canon, Protective Thranduil, Serious Injuries, Sometimes humans aren't very nice, Talking Trees, Teenage Legolas Greenleaf, The humans are OCs?, There are good and bad humans, This is probably incredibly non canon, Though its set nowhere near canon timelines, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, Trees, Weapons, Wounds, Young Legolas Greenleaf, Young teenager, also, and this sort of thing is a major point of fanfictions anyways, battles, injuries, legolas is smol and hurting, so OH WELL, so there's that, think 13/14
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashpotatoeQueen5/pseuds/MashpotatoeQueen5
Summary: A young Legolas, injured and alone, is taken in by humans. But what was thought to be sanctuary may turn out to be more of a nightmare, and there is only so much one elfling can take...





	1. And the Storm Rolls In

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. Yes. This has been done a MILLION times before. *Legolas gets hurt! Humans find him! Angst and fluff pursues!* I know, I know...
> 
> It doesn't make it any less fun to write (or read?) though! :)
> 
> So yeah! Here is my take on it! :) Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Legolas is like, 13-14 (mentally/appearance) here.

The night was dark, still. The moon flickered in and out of the clouds, occasionally disappearing all together, leaving the world shrouded in shadows.

Travelling under the safety of darkness was a small entourage. The group held seven members, all cloaked and garbed in grey. They seemed to flit silently in and out of the shadows, disappearing only to reappear in a flitting glance of moonlight many paces away.

Their ears were pointed.

If a stranger were to notice them, they would be confused, for it almost appeared as if the soundless figures were reflecting the hidden light of the moon. Almost as if their skin shone with the very essence of the stars above…

But that would be impossible…  _right_?

But no such stranger was hidden on those windblown plains. There was only the entourage and its silent cloaked members moving through the windy night, anxiously watching the sky as the storm blew in, shrouding them in further darkness and promising rain.

They were alone… until they were not.

There was a flash of lightning, brilliant and bright, and the rain started to fall with force. And with the thunder that sounded soon after came the roar of enemies and the pounding of heavy feet slamming onto the wet earth.

The Orcs had arrived.

The entourage, upon spotting the imposing battle, tightened their circle around their seventh member and broke off in a gallop, their horses panting and nickering under the heavy downfall.

But they had acted too late.

The orcs surrounded the small party, growling and jeering and clamoring for blood. Despite the odds, the entourage was not about to give up without a fight. They drew their weapons and threw back their hoods, corralling around the seventh and preparing for battle, willing to protect the final member to their last breath.

The seventh member was a young lad- his looks suggested one of thirteen or fourteen summers- with brilliant gold hair- now wet with rain- and large blue eyes. Upon his grey cloak he bore the symbol of the Elvenking of Mirkwood, and his face- though fair- was pinched in panic at the sight of swarms of orcs pouring into the plains.

He, too, drew his weapon of choice; a bow and arrow. His aim was steady and unfaltering despite his fear, and his icy orbs were alive with intelligence and adrenaline. He, too, was willing to fight till the end, but that would not be the case on this stormy night.

The signal was given, the arrows were shot, and the battle began.

The orcs were merciless and cruel, weapons slashing and guttural roars echoing in time with the thunder and lightning above. They came in swarms and fought without mercy, their only goal to spill as much blood as possible.

But the entourage was quick on their feet and flexible, dodging blows this way and that. They moved like shadows, fast and fleeting, and attacked with sharp, direct strikes that left many an orc dead before they realized what had happened.

But it would not be enough, the orcs were too many and the entourage too few, and eventually, one by one, they fell.

And then there were two, the young seventh member and the captain of the entourage. The captain was noble and wise, and upon seeing a break in the orcs, he swept his young charge up on his horse and took off in a gallop, making for the trees of the distant woods and leaving the bloody battlefield behind.

His duty was to protect the youth, and he was not about to fail.

The orcs gave chase, screaming at the loss of their victims.

But one orc, with a vicious and cruel smile, pulled out a crude bow. The archer hooked a black arrow, aimed, and- with a sadistic lick of his lips- fired.

His aim was true.

Lighting flashed.

With a stuttered groan, the captain leaned forwards, holding on for a few meager minutes as the horse galloped farther away from the evil that followed. But his grip could not last, and he slipped from the horse.

The poisoned arrow had reached his heart.

The young blonde, upon realizing the loss of his older companion, pulled the frightened horse to a stop. He leapt to the ground with a stifled sob, fear and panic blinding his judgement.

"Túron!"

Unheeding of the slick mud and pouring rain, nor the perilous danger he was in, the youth slid to his knees besides his fallen companion, grasping the cold, shaking hands tightly, as if through will alone he could make the old warrior stand again.

But the captain recognized the danger, could feel the thrumming of many feet as they marched closer and closer even as he felt his blood grow sluggish and cold, and was not about to let his charge die.

With his remaining strength, the dying warrior gave the small hand in his grasp a reassuring squeeze. Rasping his final breaths, he pushed himself up on his elbows to look the youth in the eye.

" _Legolas! Legolas, you must ride! Think not of me, you must flee! Head to the forest; the trees shall shelter you!"_

Legolas, for that was the young blonde's name, only squeezed harder, eyes wide with sorrow and panic and confusion. Everything had happened so fast, and he did not wish to leave his sole remaining friend behind. Did not want to be alone.

" _No! Not without you! Túron, please, stay with me!_ "

And the Captain gasped, shaking and shuddering as he fought for more time in the mortal world.

" _I- I can not. I would if I could, my prince, but there is no saving me now…"_

The thunderous cries of the orcs grew near, and the first of them started to appear at the slope of the closest hill. Upon spotting their quarries, they shrieked in victory and picked up their paste, charging down the plains.

But Legolas paid them no heed.

Túron, with his last piece of strength, managed to mutter his dying word.

" _Drego!_ "*

And then his breath caught in his chest, stealing its last stuttering movements. The wizened warrior's eyes turned upwards, to the rolling thunder clouds above, and for a moment the moon shined freely, casting a ghostly glow to the saddened scene even as the stars twinkled far above.

And with a last faltering breath, he was gone.

Legolas cried out in anguish for- despite his youth- he knew of such terrible loss. With his tears mingling with the still pouring rain, he reached out with shaking fingers and closed his companion's eyes, so that he might rest in peace.

But there was no time for anything else, for the orcs were upon him, and so the youth- with one last mumbled goodbye- leapt to his feet and raced to his horse. He would not let his friend's sacrifice be in vain. Would not let the death of any of the warriors be in vain.

The horse reared and started galloping to the woods beyond, Legolas hunched low on it's back against the pouring rain.

But he had let the orcs come to close, and the vile black arrows started to fly once more. The forest was just starting to loom in close when one struck true, killing the loyal steed with a final, desperate shriek and sending Legolas flying.

The blonde landed in a heap- his right ankle twisted in an awkward, painful way underneath him- sorely bruising his back and leaving him breathless, but soon enough he was back on his feet, now running to the trees in a last, desperate dash, ignoring the blinding waves of suffering that coursed through his injured ankle.

The orcs gave chase.

Legolas suddenly screamed and dropped down in agony, a black arrow embedded in his side. Gasping and shuddering in pain, the blonde grasped the shaft and tugged it out with a single jagged yank. Blood immediately started pouring from the wound, mingling with the trickling streams of water, but the youth only gritted his teeth and pressed a hand tightly down on it before standing up and breaking into a run once more.

 _For Túron_ , he thought,  _For Túron, and all the rest_.

Finally, panting and shaking from exertion, he reached the woods. He reached up, as if trying to grasp the stars, and a sturdy thick vine curled down from the closest tree and wrapped around it.

Branches all around him lowered themselves closer to the ground, and he nimbly stepped onto them, following the leafy path until he was well hidden in the thick foliage of the trees.

He could hear the whispering voices of his green companions surrounding him, telling him that he would not be safe there, even hidden in their bows. Could hear of their concern and worry, could hear their hissing anger towards the orcs.

Every movement hurt- his muscles straining from exhaustion and pain- his vision was wavering, and all he truly wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry over the loss of his companions, but he dared not. He knew that if he sat down he would probably not have the strength to stand again, and so he pressed on, following the leafy trail through the trees.

Several times he was forced to stop, both because of his failing health and fear of being spotted by the orcs, who patrolled the earth below, snarling for blood.

But he could only go on for so long, and eventually he succumbed to his injuries, dropping into the crook of a tree and unable to take another step.

The trees around him crooned in worry and concern and he wished to comfort them, but he had not the strength. His vision was encroached by darkness, and he knew no more.

The trees maneuvered themselves to provide better protection around their precious charge- both from the still pouring rain and the prying eyes below- wrapping him in layers upon layers of foliage.  _We will keep him safe_ , they whispered,  _We will protect him._

The trees reached out, calling their concern to the winds of the world, calling for help and of their vows, warning all who would listen on their intent.

And if many an orc died that night under their boughs… well, no one was there to see.

And Legolas stayed still, bleeding and pale, and slept in their arms.

And around them all, the storm raged on.

* * *

Johan was getting on in his years, grey starting to speckle his beard and hair and wrinkles starting to line his face. His old bones were still strong though, and he could still get a good buck or two whenever he went out hunting.

He was getting old, didn't mean he was getting useless.

As it was, hunting had been poor that night. It always was when the big storms came. He had managed to grab a couple of hares, though, and some of those herbs Kaylyn- his wonderful wife of twenty-two years- loved so much, which would be more than enough for the night's stew.

He hefted the traps higher on his shoulder, double checked the meat hanging on his belt, and continued on through the pouring rain.

The wind was howling fiercely, almost sounding as if some ethereal being was throwing a fit, and the downpour appeared to be only getting thicker as the night wore on. Johan was looking forward to getting home to his warm, dry cottage, just on the outskirts of town.

He was especially looking forward to the stew.

Suddenly, he heard something.

The man frowned, standing still and straightening as to better hear over the storm. He was almost sure he had heard a soft noise of pain coming from off the track, but the thundering and howling wind made it difficult to be positive.

Again he heard the sound, and this time he was almost sure it was there. He wondered if it was an animal, caught in a trap and crying out in its agony.

He frowned.

Johan had always hated how some hunters purposely made their traps as painful as possible, finding it sickening and cruel. Personally, he had always tried to make the deaths of his kill as quick and as painless as possible, but some men were not so kind…

Again he heard it, and that was what made up his mind.

Tentatively, he stepped off the path and into the shrouded woods beyond, eyes scanning the shadows in search for a glint of metal or the flash of an eye.

Nothing.

He was about to give up and head back to the trail when something  _happened._

The trees, as if they had planned their actions in the timing of the howling wind, suddenly moved. Johan watched in a terrified awe as the branches whirled and swirled a part, suddenly becoming less of a thick dense and opening out.

Johan hadn't even realized that the foliage had been providing shelter from the rain until heavy drops started to spatter upon his head once more.

All thoughts of rain, however, fled his mind when he spotted the figure the trees had revealed.

It was a child.

Not a particularly young child, but a child nonetheless. A girl, judging by the long hair, curled up high above Johan, sheltered in the branches.

Anxious for the girl's health, he placed down his wares.

"Hello!? Are you alright!? Can you hear me!?"

The child shifted, but did not respond.

Johan frowned.

Kaylyn and Johan had never managed to have children, it was something they had long ago accepted, but he was a kind, caring man that loved youngsters despite his inability to have any of his own. He would never just leave a child alone, especially if they seemed to be in trouble.

And so he tried again.

"HELLO!?"

The child jerked roughly, startled, and fell off the branch. There was a scream, but it was abruptly cut off, presumably because the youth had hit her head. Johan's eyes widened as he watched the limp figure fall, and he dashed to catch her.

When he did catch her, he almost fell as well. Not because she was heavy, but because the body was far lighter than he expected it to be, almost weighing nothing at all.

Gently, Johan placed the unconscious child on the semi dry ground, not noticing how the trees curled around them and provided shelter from the rain once more. He hissed when he noticed the blood staining the kid's tunic and the multitude of scratches and and bruises painting her arms.

But when he carefully drew back the child's long golden hair, he got the largest shock of all.

For the blonde was not a girl, but a boy.

But that was not what made him jerk back, fearful surprise radiating him in waves.

No, it was the single, delicately pointed ear.

 


	2. Meetings and Acquaintance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm back with another chapter! *Thrusts it into your hands* I hope you guys enjoy!

Kaylyn had been expecting her husband home. She had been expecting her husband to have a small haul- he always did when the weather got as bad as it was- and she had already set a pot of water to boil and a nice fire to heat up the cabin, preparing for his usual exclamations of shivering to his bones.

She had not been expecting for him to come in carrying a child.

An  _elf_ child.

 _A severely wounded elf child with a gaping hole in his side_.

When she first opened her door and spotted Johan standing there, soaking wet with the elf in his arms and a lost expression on her face, blood seeping onto his own clothing from the wound, she had stared in shock for several moments before sighing, rolling up her sleeves, and looking him straight in the eye.

"Put him on the couch and get the washcloths and rags, I'll tend to him. After that... you have some explaining to do."

He had nodded and done what he had been told.

She had been a healer, once, when she was younger. She had tended the wounded and sick as they had came in, but then her immune system had given away and she was deemed too likely to fall ill to be in the healing house, where many an infectious disease found it's way. She worked now as a seamstress, creating blankets and clothes and the odd tapestry, but she had never forgotten her old ways, and it came in use.

She had seen her fair share of injuries and death, but to see one so young so grievously wounded…

She sighed and dabbed away a bit more blood, wincing in sympathy as the child's face screwed up in pain. It was a wonder, to be tending an elf. She had heard so many tales growing up, of magical mysterious creatures who walked in starlight and were fair beyond comprehension and forever young.

Strange, the elf before her- although impossibly fair despite his injuries- seemed no magical creature of great age and wisdom, but a child who was hurting and ill and in dire need of a good meal or two.

With a last slathering of herbal paste and a heavy wrapping of bandages, she was finally done. The fire had burned into low embers, but her Johan was already adding in new wood, being the lovely man he was. She offered him a tired smile, which he returned, and then set about making them some stew with the hares her husband had already skinned, nice and hearty; the poor child looked like he needed it.

After the stew was made, they ate it quietly at the dining room table, Johan whispering the events that had come to past.

"Well, I was walkin' home on the old forest trail when I 'eard this weird sound…

* * *

The first time Legolas woke up, he was burning.

He was not actually physically being burnt, but there was a fire in his veins that seemed to be swallowing him alive, causing red-hot heat to fill him up and sweat to bead on his forehead. The sights and sounds around him were oddly indistinct and blurred, sneaking into his head more as flashes and flickers of perception than actual clarity.

The distinct smell of fire and sweat and the rough feel of something heavy pressing down on him. Something wet and blessedly cool against his forehead and the distant sounds of conversation in strangely gruff tones that he could not understand. Pain flaring near his gut and a clawing beast attacking his head in tune to the beating of his heart.

He passed out again before he even fully woke.

The second time he woke up, it was dark.

Initially, he almost panicked, but then he realized that his eyes were closed and that the darkness was only the back of his own eyelids.

Blearily, he opened them.

It was not much better.

Slowly, arm wrapped around his stomach and pain-filled grimace set firmly on his face, he sat up, thick quilt pooling around his waist.

He was in an unfamiliar room, one that was cozy and small- though decorated far differently than he was used to- and a low level of light was shining from the embers in a fireplace. His side was a gaping chasm of pain and his head pounded heavily, and strange smells afflicted his nose and made it crinkle up. He realized that he was shirtless and his chest was heavily wrapped with bandages.

He had no idea where he was.

Legolas swallowed, trying desperately to remember what had happened to him and how he had come to be in such a situation. Tried to remember how he had come to be in this unfamiliar place on the unfamiliar couch.

When he did, he wished that he had not.

Túron. The others. His people. His  _friends_. They were  _dead_.  _They were all dead_ , and it was because of  _him_.

It was all his fault.

They had been returning from a visit to Imladris,a trip that Legolas had utterly insisted on, and his father had agreed on the condition that Legolas had an escort, saying that his safety was of great importance.

Now that escort was dead.

The sensation of sticky blood sliding across his fingers as he desperately tried to save the captain came to him, and suddenly he felt violently ill. His stomach churned, because that was  _Túron's blood_ on  _his hands_  and it was his fault, all his fault, and they were all  _dead_  and Legolas was  _alone_.

His breath caught in his throat and before he knew it he was curling into himself despite the pain and sobbing for all he was worth. He could feel it, the blood, could still hear his friend's last words echoing through his ears (" _Drego!"_ ) and see his companions falling, one by one, to the orc's brutish blades, and their pain-filled screams laid heavy on his heart.

_All his fault, it was all his fault, and now every single one of them was dead._

Something touched his shoulder.

Legolas jerked backwards- fear coursing through his very being- with a startled cry, only for the cry to turn into one of pain as he jostled his wounds. Blearily- through tear filled eyes- he looked upwards at the two beings looking down on him, expecting to see the faces of monsters, the faces of the orcs.

Instead he was greeted by the sight of two worried faces of a pair of humans.

He blinked up at them wearily, fear still coursing through him but to a lesser extent. He had had experiences with humans before; none had ended well.

They seemed to be getting on in their years, small wrinkles beginning to trace their faces and strands of grey starting to invade their chestnut hair. The woman had warm hazel eyes while the man sported a rough beard, and judging by their closeness Legolas assumed that they were courting.

One of them, the woman, reached out to touch him. He immediately curled farther away- hand still pressed against his side- wishing he had his bow, or at least his knives.

But the woman had retreated, her hand on her lap as she sat on an old wooden chair. The man was staring at him with wide eyes, but the female was acting as if she was sitting in a situation she had been in many times before.

"Can ya understand me, hun?"

Legolas blinked at the voice- rough to ears that were used to hearing the melodic tones of elves- and swallowed, blue eyes flickering back and forth between the two people before him with a nervous air. He had understood what she had said- his father had made him take many different lessons on languages, including mannish- but his sluggish mind was still trying to figure out what was going on.

They were staring at him expectantly, and so he nodded slowly, swallowing hard once more.

The woman's eyes crinkled in the corners as she smiled, and she very, very slowly reached up and grabbed the man's hand.

"We're not going to hurt you; we just want to help. My husband found ya in the woods and he brought you here, and I fixed ye up."

Legolas blinked and licked his chapped licks. So far, the humans had done nothing to hurt him and, based on the fact that his stomach was tightly wrapped with bandages and his half-there memories of warm calloused hands gently placed on his forehead, it appeared that they were speaking the truth.

The conclusion did not stop the fear running through his veins or his hands from shaking, but it gave him the strength to give another hesitant nod.

She smiled again and gestured first to herself and then to her husband, introducing themselves as Kaylyn and Johan before gently asking him for his name.

He wasn't sure he wanted to answer, wasn't sure if answering would be helpful or harmful, but he was so tired and saddened and lost that he found himself answering anyways, his voice scratchy and dry from disuse and sleep and crying.

"Legolas."

Kaylyn gestured to his side, and he stared at her for a few seconds before slowly looking down, spotting the red flower of blood blossoming through the bandages.

"You jostled your wound, hun, I'm going to need to add some more salve and rebandage it, but to do that I'm going to need to touch you. Is that alright with you, or should we wait a bit?"

He looked up at her and into her warm eyes, and then at her husband who was staring at him as if he was the strangest thing he had ever met, but not unkindly. Shirtless, wounded, unarmed and unprepared, tear tracks still lining his face and grief still clouding his every thought, Legolas felt terribly vulnerable and small. He wished fiercely he could have been home, safe and sound, away from the terrible nightmare that had befallen him.

Instead he swallowed and nodded once more, untrusting of his voice to not break and dissolve into tears.

The woman was effective, her every movement neat and quick from long practice and experience. It stung sharply when the salve was applied, and with every touch Legolas tensed and stiffened, but soon enough the bandages were reapplied and Legolas was left sitting alone on the couch once more.

Until he wasn't.

The man sat next to him, his weight causing the whole couch to dip slightly. Legolas was immediately on guard and he almost struck out when Johan reached out for him.

He managed to restrain the instinct.

And then, gently, ever so gently, the man slowly pulled him into an embrace. Legolas stayed tense and still for several moments, but then his exhaustion and pain and grief and fear and overwhelmed mind and body caught up with him and he was relaxing into the hug. Small, silent tears escaped from underneath his closed eyelids and his breath came out fast and stuttered, but otherwise he made no sound, suffering in silence.

This was a stranger. A stranger. Even more so, it was a stranger who was human. And it was stupid and unseemly to simply dissolve into tears in front of him, to expose his back completely and freely to the man… But the man was a stranger who cared, and it was something that Legolas desperately needed.

Kaylyn watched on, a saddened expression upon her simple features as she imagined the possible scenarios that could lead such a sweet boy to such distress, and then she left to serve a bowl of stew.

And later, after eating and drinking and stilted but well meant conversation, Legolas drifted off to sleep, curled underneath a duvet and his eyes tightly shut, as if keeping out the terrors of the world.

But the terrors would not keep out.

At least, not for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Legolas wasn't too out of character. I thought tears made sense for his situation, though.


	3. Markets and Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! :)

Johan stood tensely in the market, suspiciously watching the people move around him. He was to get supplies for their new young charge and more healing things, for their stores were depleted. In his clenched fist was a list, written in his wife's neat scribble, of all the things he was required to get.

Johan was not afraid of the shopping, he had gotten supplies many times before, it was the people he was worried about.

He knew that many men would fight tooth and nail to get there hands on an elf. Knew that the beings had a high value in the market. Normally, however, the elves were far too fast and clever and deadly to ever get captured. They traveled in groups on paths that many would never even dare to step onto to, and their fighting styles and agility were far superior than anything man could do. To get your hands on an elf was to get your hands on a gold mine, to many men.

And now there was an elf, injured and alone, in his very own home. An elf, defenseless, ready for the taking for anyone who put two and two together… An elf who was not only easy to access, but a child, a child who would fetch a very,  _very_ high price on the market.

The idea made him sick, and very,  _very_  cautious; no man would be getting to the young elf, not if he could help it.

The youth was healing, slowly. Often, the blonde's gaze would trail off to sights and sounds that the other two members of the cabin could not see or hear, and the inner glow that would softly surround him seemed to flicker and go out. The wounds, although they healed far faster than Johan and Kaylyn had expected them to, were slowly mending. The blonde had yet to stand on his own two feet, and spent much of his time asleep, eyes closed.

It had been two days.

Whenever the elfling did wake up from his sleep, he woke up disoriented and confused, often crying out for people who were not there only to clam up, curling into himself and staring at his knees- lips pursed- for a good long while until Kylyn convinced him to eat.

He had not cried since the first night.

And after eating the blonde would simply sit, unearthly still, eyes fixed on the window and the world beyond, as if he could teleport himself to the nature simply through his eyes alone. As if his heart was internally breaking on the inside to be a part from the birds and the trees and the open sky.

Kylyn had noticed, muttering that perhaps they could bear to have the window open a little more, despite the fact that it let out all the heat.

And Legolas, despite his silence and his quiet manner, was incredibly polite. He was always thanking them, constantly offering small, if not distant, smiles that both heartened and broke Johan's heart.

The smiles were fair, brightening the child's face, but his eyes always remained depressingly sad.

It was one reason that Johan was so intent on not letting any other terrible hand be laid on the child; he had suffered enough.

He was just leaving the market, weighed down by his heavy load of supplies and herbs, when a large, calloused hand landed on his shoulder.

Johan closed his eyes.

Carun was one of the young oafs who had arrived at the town a few years ago, and while being good hunters, they were savage bullies. Johan and his wife had been left alone well enough- Johan had made very clear he would deal with no funny business in his home- but there were others that were not so lucky.

And now he had attracted their attention, the exact kind of people he wanted to avoid.

"Greetings, Johan, you seem to have a heavy load…. Would you like a hand?"

He managed to suppress a snort.

"I believe I can manage, thank ye."

Carun frowned at the abject refusal and the utter lack of fear in Johan's tone, before settling into stride with the grey-speckled man.

"Why did ye buy so many wares? Do ye have a guest over?"

Johan suppressed the panic that flared in his gut, instead nonchalantly shrugging.

"We were running low on supplies, 'tis all."

Carun nodded, falling behind with his cronies and allowing him to walk on. Johan didn't look back, instead making his steady way onwards and inwardly taking a breath of relief as he turned the corner.

If he had looked back, however, he would have seen the suspicious look on Carun's face, and would not have felt so relieved….

* * *

Legolas was awake when he arrived home, and offered him a small smile before returning to the book he had begun reading this morning, one of the few books they owned. Johan was slightly surprised to see that the lad was almost finished.

But only slightly; he was an  _elf,_  after all.

Johan dumped the goods on the table, rustling through them until he found what he was looking for; a simple green tunic. Then, without any warning, he turned around and chucked it at the oblivious elf.

Except, perhaps not so oblivious, for the blonde caught it with his good arm without even looking up from his book, preventing it from hitting him in the face, which had been Johan's intention.

The man sighed in feigned disappointment, but he could not help but grin as Legolas finally looked up from the words to give him an unamused look, completed with a raised eyebrow.

Johan laughed, turning away from his supposed victim in order to finish the unpacking of his wares, enjoying the little game that he had thought up, one that his wife highly disapproved of. He would throw something at the Legolas- something very soft, he wasn't stupid, he realized that the blonde was injured- the elf would catch it, and Johan would turn around for some reason or another, every single time and-

_Thump!_

And then the elf would retaliate, managing to hit him  _every single bloody time_.

Oh the woes of living with an elf!

He was about to pick up the shirt and have another shot when Kylyn entered the room, just as he was posed to throw. Based on the blasted creature's little smile, he had realized what was about to happen and had timed his throw just so that Kylyn would spot Johan as  _he_  attempted to retaliate.

He took back what he said about the elf being polite.

Straightening his posture, and decidedly ignoring the woman's disapproving glare, he smiled sheepishly.

"I'm back?"

The woman held out her hand.

Johan sighed and placed the shirt in the open palm.

Kylyn rolled her eyes, hustling over to Legolas and  _properly_  giving him his new tunic. Legolas simply offered one of his small, sad-eyed smile and carefully pulled the shirt over his head, covering up the multitude of bandages.

"Lady Kylyn, I was wondering if, now that I have the proper attire- if I may-"

"No, Legolas, we've already discussed this."

Johan frowned, looking between his worried wife and the disappointed elf.

"What does he wanna do, Kylyn?"

His wife gestured at the lad, shaking her head

"The lad wants to try standin' up and walkin' about… It's only been two days, though! 'And I know it's been a while but I also know that he twisted his ankle like a corkscrew, and that it's going to take some more time than tha' to heal!"

"But Lady Kylyn, Elves tend to heal far faster than humans and-"

"I'm sorry, Legolas, but as a healer I cannot allow it."

The lad looked incredibly disappointed, as if sitting still was physically killing him. His eyes flickered once more to the world outside, and then to the other side of the room, where they had placed his weapons. (Beautiful weapons, Johan had spent over an hour marveling at their fine craftsmanship, wondering how well the lad knew how to use them.) There was a desperate glint in his blue orbs...

"I just- I want to go outside."

Johan heard the unuttered  _need_.

His wife was shaking her head, her own face filled with regret. She was going to say no.

Johan sighed.

"Kylyn, love, I think it best if the lad gets a little fresh air. Being cooped up like this can't be too good for him, either. I can carry him out, if ye want, keep 'im off his leg."

Legolas was looking at Kylyn as well now, big blue eyes wide and pleading.

In the end, the woman could not stand the force of their combined wills.

"Oh, alrighty then, but if you fall unconscious I'm no' lettin' ye out of bed for another week!"

But Legolas was no longer paying attention, already shoving off the blankets and trying to find purchase to stand, a living excitement in his eyes that Johan had yet to see. Without hesitation, he reached out- mindfully conscious of the lad's injuries- and slipped his grip around the elf, supporting most of his weight. Together, they hobbled towards the door and out into the gardens beyond, his wife following worriedly behind.

The minute the blonde reached the trees, however, something  _happened,_ something that drove all thoughts of concern out of their minds and left behind only awe.

Johan had never seen anything like it before.

The trees, they began to dance, their branches swirling and moving without any wind to guide them. Leaves began to flitter down from the canopy above, raining down upon the elf as if to welcome him. The grand old trunks began to lean forwards, as if trying to get closer to the lad, and all around them nature seemed to become alive with joy.

It was like magic.

But perhaps the most magical sight of all was that of the elf himself, who was laughing as if greeting an old friend. Real laughter, real joy, something that Johan had yet to see from him. His eyes were crinkled at the corners from smiling, and his hands were reaching up, as if they could touch the ever distant clouds. It was almost as if the elf was actually _glowing_  from happiness.

He had never seen something so pure and innocent, and it would be a precious memory he would keep for the rest of his days.

Unbeknownst to all, another set of eyes watched from the bushes. Except, instead of wonder and awe, they were filled with fear. The trees did not seem to dance to him, but lunge and attack, they seemed to be threatening.

The young man carefully retreated from the bushes and ran back to the village; he had to tell Carun of what he had saw.

Johan had an elf, and the elf was a practicer of witchcraft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for all the support, everyone!


	4. Intruders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

It had been half an hour.

The elf was sitting at the base of a tree, eyes closed and face slightly tensed, as if focusing on something far away. His palm was rested lightly on the rough bark of the large trunk. Every once and awhile, the entire tree seemed to take a part of a rippling effect, small shivers smoothing across every leaf and fanning outwards, reaching from one tree to the next, and then to the next, and onwards and outwards, for as far as the eye could see.

Despite the rather miraculous events that were unfolding before her eyes, Kylyn was starting to feel anxious. She wanted to huddle up her patient inside the house and make sure that the trip outside hadn't harmed him in any further way. That his wounds didn't get infected or that he didn't over exert himself. That he wouldn't relapse because he did too much, too fast.

At the same time… in the last half an hour she had seen Legolas smile more than she had seen him smile in the the last three days combined. Smiles that actually reached his eyes and seemed to really be expressing some sort of positive emotion, instead of the vague politeness that she had been receiving or the mild, distant amusement that sometimes occurred in response to her husband's antics. A sort of color had returned to the elf's cheeks, and no matter what resignations she had originally had, she was glad to see that there had been some positive influence from being outside.

….Even so, enough was enough, and it really was important that the elf went back inside to recover.

And so, with a hint of regret in her tone, Kylyn informed her husband that it was time to go. The man- although he, too, had a face of slight regret- knelt down and gave a light shake to the blonde's shoulder, as the elf seemed to not have noticed their agreement, or anything, really, since Kylyn had reluctantly allowed Johan to place the elf down on the soft dirt under the tree.

"Legolas? It's time to go…"

Blue eyes snapped open, distant and far away for a few seconds before focusing.

"Hmmm?"

Johan smiled, half amused.

"It's time to go. C'mon, I'll help you up."

Her husband slowly hauled up the young elf, heavily supporting him as the blonde limped back to their small home. Legolas glanced back multiple times, as if capturing the sight of trees and grass and slowly darkening sky and committing it to memory, or trying to send some message that could be transferred with his eyes alone... Kylyn followed behind them both, keeping a critical eyes out as Legolas leaned further and further on her husband with every step, until the older man was practically carrying him.

By the time they all managed to enter the house and Legolas was properly situated on his make-do "bed," the elf had a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and his face was pale and taut, as if in pain.

(Kylyn had no doubt that the blonde _was_  in pain, and was simply suppressing voicing it out of sheer stubbornness.)

She went about her business, hustling and bustling around her young charge, rewrapping the bandages around his chest and tutting over the lad's ankle, which was swelling at a rapid pace. After making sure he had eaten something- she had noticed more than once that, if left alone, the blonde would ignore the food placed in front of him, especially when his eyes turned distant and far away- and giving him some tea for the pain, she purposely walked out of the living room, shutting the door softly behind her.

He needed his rest, and she was not going to impose on it.

* * *

Sitting alone in the rapidly darkening room, Legolas kept his eyes on the flickering flames of the dying fire.

Going outside….had helped. He felt better, now, the fresh air and the trees' reassurances and the simple fact of being a part of nature and life once more lightening his entire spirit. The weight, the crushing darkness that pulled on his soul reminding him that  _they were dead, all dead, they had died for him and it was all his fault-_

Well…. It was still there. Just…. lessened. Not as much as a terrible horrible burden. Not so prominent. There was light now, joy, and hope for healing.

It felt good, to say the least.

Even beyond the time spent in the world of fresh air and grass, there was one thing that was lightening the weight on his soul. That was making his tired muscles- and  _Valar_ had it hurt to move, every step shooting fiery waves of burning pain up and down his leg and across his sides- tense in hopeful anticipation.

He had sent a message.

Or, at least, he had tried to. Trees… they were free spirits. They grew old and were a part of the force of nature itself. They were not messengers by trade, nor by experience. Nonetheless, he had tried to convey his meaning. Tried to tell them to whisper his words across forests and branches and leaves until it reached the ears of an elf.

_He's not dead. He's not captured. He's safe. He's safe. Come and get him. Please come and get him, in the cabin in the woods with the humans and the trees. Not dead, not captured, safe, safe, safe…._

Legolas had feared for his father. Had feared that he would think him dead and would sink into pits of depression that none could drag him out from. He feared that the whole kingdom would mourn a dead prince with a dead queen, when really the prince was only lost, not gone.

And so, instead of just relaxing in the presence of nature as he wanted to, as his bones ached for him to do, he set to work. Relaying his message to the trees and praying fervently that they would understand his intent, that someone would hear from him and someone would come. That his father would come, because Legolas was growing tired, so tired, and simply wanted to be safe in his father's arms and home in his woods once more. He simply wanted to place the entire nightmare behind him.

And if his father did not receive his message…. If no elf heard the trees' whispers…. If none heard his last bid for contact….

Then he would wait. He would wait and he would heal and he would buy a horse and he would travel back home himself.

And if his father was already gone, lost to depression… Legolas did not dare to think of what he would do then.

There were some things best ignored.

Realizing that his eyes were feeling frighteningly heavy as he stared at the hypnotic dance of the flickering flames, Legolas lightly shook his head. Awake. He needed to stay awake. Just for now.

Slowly, the blonde reached down under his couch and grabbed his bow and quiver. After much pleading and conference with Kylyn, the women _finally_  relented in letting him have his weapons at hand instead of locked up in some old shed. He understood, of course, that weapons were usually detrimental to one's health, but at the point of his pleadings he was desperate for something that wasn't incredibly unfamiliar and alien. He had simply wanted something familiar and  _his_.

Besides, it was something to do.

Not actually shooting with them, of course. Legolas doubted he could stand up without assistance, much less take part in actual training and shooting. But he could polish them. He could make sure the arrows were properly cared for. He could stick to a routine of sorts and try to feel normal.

His hands, without barely any focus on his part, retrieved his polishing cloth from his quiver's compartment and started going through the motions of cleaning and shining the well crafted bow. His mind, a thousand miles away, focused on the message he had sent. He wished he could be privy to its travels.

And with his mind wandering, his body tired, and his heart a little lighter than it had been in a long time, Legolas didn't even notice when his hands stopped their practiced movements and his head softly clinked against the back of the couch- still in a sitting position- eyes distant and faraway in the elven realm of dreams.

And for the first time in a long time, the pale blue orbs remained open.

* * *

Kylyn did not bother to enter the room where the elf lay, hopefully resting, after the soft sounds of cloth on wood eventually stopped. She had learned from experience that the blonde was an incredibly light sleeper and would wake with the slightest creak of noise. And after the elf's excursions of the day, she did not want to bother him any more than absolutely necessary.

And so she went about her business, fixed dinner in the kitchen and sat with her husband, chatting quietly with him as the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon. They then crept their way back to their own room, crawling under the heavy quilts of the old worn bed and soon falling into a restful slumber.

At least, until the heavy banging and shouting at the door woke them.

"Johan! Johan! Open up, or we're breakin' the door down!"

Her husband frowned, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, concern furrowing his brow. He reached for his dagger, which sat at their bedside table, and stood.

Kylyn made to follow him.

"Stay here, I'll deal with it."

She raised an eyebrow at him. This was her home. He was her husband. They had a young charge to take care of, and they were going to go and confront the hooligans at the door. Together.

After several moments of a silent staring contest, he relented with a soft grunt and averted his eyes. Kylyn gave a self satisfied smile, and together they headed down to the still banging door, only stopping to let her arm herself with her favorite heavy dish pan from the kitchens.

Johan flung open the door to their cabin with a very disapproving frown and Kylyn stood supportively behind him, her own displeasure at the invasion only growing at the sight of the intruders.

It was Carun and a couple of his followers. The man had plagued many a villager of their small town, and was bothersome, to say the least.

….But he was also dangerous. And he was armed to the teeth. And his eyes were shining with the half-mad light of greed.

Kylyn felt the quick sinking of dread in her stomach. He knew. He knew about the elf, she could tell, and he had come to claim the young blonde that was lying, helpless, on her couch with only the thin barrier of a wooden door in his way.

And Kylyn and Johan, of course. Legolas had them, and she would rather chop off her own arms then let the despicable man before her get to the innocent being in her care.

"What brings you here, Carun?"

Her husband's voice was calm, almost nonchalant, but there was an underlying layer of steel in his tone,marking his displeasure.

"Skip it, Jahun. We know about the elf. Paton here," Carun gestured to a young man, barely out of boyhood, who was shaking slightly as he stood behind him, "saw it and everthin'. We won't start no trouble if ye give it to us without a fuss."

Johan's lips pulled down even farther, his normally kind face now suited with a scowl.

"If ye think I'm lettin' you anywhere near that elf, 'm afraid your rather mistaken'. Now get out of my property."

Johan made to slam the door in Carun's face, but the man slipped a foot in before he managed it, jerking the door back open and entering the already crammed entryway, his followers right behind him.

Kylyn tensed, preparing herself for a fight; things were not going well.

She quickly took stock of their situation.

Four against two, small place to maneuver, she armed with a frying pan and her husband a knife, them with some swords and daggers and bows and arrows.

Things were not going well at all.

...But she was never one to cower.

Her husband swung, hard, and knocked his clenched fist against Carun's jaw. The other man made as if to back off, only to lunge at the door that was blocking his way to Legolas' room.

Kylyn gave an outraged cry, soundly thwacking the pan across the head of one of Carun's followers and barely paying any mind as the man crumpled to the ground, so focused was she on getting to the lead man before he could get to Legolas.

They all burst into the living room in a chaotic wave of sound and panic and fighting.

It all went abruptly still and quiet when an arrow went flying through the air, making a razor thin cut on the side of Carun's ear before embedding into the wall behind them all.

And there was Legolas, standing before them with his hands on his bow. Steady and strong, absolutely still with another arrow already nocked and ready, pointing unwaveringly at Carun.

Gone was the young innocent elf that politely thanked her with small distant smiles and quiet thanks. Gone was the elf who was fascinated with her meager book supply and was incredibly happy to tuck himself under a quilt and read all day long. Gone was the child that she had cared for, who needed her help and was terribly young and small.

Instead stood a warrior. A warrior who had seen too much and was grim and ready for a fight. A warrior with eyes that flashed with wisdom far beyond what his youthful features suggested.

Kylyn suddenly remembered the old tale that elves lived forever, and shuddered, wondering how old the being in front of her truly was.

Blue eyes- striking, icy blue eyes- narrowed, and still the arrow tip stayed pointed steady.

"Take one step closer, human, and you will find I am not so generous to miss again."

Carun swallowed. Hard.


	5. Fires Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

_Blue eyes- striking, icy blue eyes- narrowed, and still the arrow tip stayed pointed true and steady._

" _Take one step closer, human, and you will find I am not so generous to miss again."_

_Carun swallowed. Hard_

The man slowly lifted his arms into the air, surrendering. It was the smart thing to do, when held at arrowpoint with threat of death lying on your shoulders, especially when one was held at arrowpoint by an angry elf; if the rumours were true, they always took the shot, and they  _never_ missed.

But then Kylyn was shaking her head, for even though this elf was most definitely dangerous, was most definitely  _a warrior_ , he was still her elf. He was still so obviously young and still in her care, and that meant she couldn't let him handle everything on his own. She owned it to him to help.

And so, without further ado, she slammed her frying pan into the back of the second follower's head, watching with a satisfied smile as the figure- the one Carun had called Paton- crumpled to the ground, even though there was some guilt at knocking out one so young, and obviously terrified.

She looked up at her husband, lifting her frying pan once more and prompting him to lift his knife.  _They_  now had the advantage, Carun against the three of them, and she did not wish for them to waste it

She looked at the horrible man before her, eyes made of steal.

"You've  _lost_ , Carun. Leave before you're humiliated even further."

And the man turned, looming his full height and growling at her,  _angry_ , only for Legolas to make a warning note and pull his string a little tighter, causing Carun to pale and lift his hands once more.

And Johan placed the butt of his knife against the man's shoulder blades and hissed, the threat very clear in his tone.

" _Out_."

And so, without further ado, Carun turned and rushed from the house, only pausing when the elf called out, "Your men," where he rushed back and helped his groaning accomplices to stand. Together, the intruders fled the house and onwards into the night.

And then the event was over, the threat gone and the fear evaporating.

(But not for long.)

For several moments after the door slammed shut behind the men, all three remaining persons stayed absolutely still, waiting for the thugs to burst back inside in a surprise attack or something else of this sort. But it did not happen, and so Kylyn rushed towards Legolas, as the blonde has begun to waver slightly now that the adrenaline was flushing out of his systems. With a healer's steady hand, she forced the youth back onto the couch, muttering under her breath of the stubbornness of males and the woes she had to deal with on a daily basis whenever 'one of her boys' got hurt.

Legolas smiled in a small, distant way, shaking slightly from over exertion and sweat beginning to dot his brow from pain. His leg was on fire from placing his full weight on the twisted appendage, and there was pain rushing from his chest and outwards, the wound pulled at by drawing the string of his bow.

He looked up at the woman tending to his ankle, trying for another smile and falling short.

"I think I pulled my stitches."

The voice, so strong and assured but minutes before, had fallen quiet and soft. It was the voice of a child rather than one of a warrior, and Kylyn refused to admit the mild relief she felt because of it.

But still, even if it  _was_  the voice of a warrior, it would still be a voice asking for help.

She frowned, standing up and gently tugging off the loose tunic the elf was wearing, revealing the blood slowly staining the bandages. Tutting, she slowly pulled off the bandages and dabbed away at the red liquid with a cloth, one which her husband had fetched but moments before along with a bucket of warm water.

Legolas hissed slightly in response, breaths escaping fast and hoarse between clenched teeth, and Kylyn frowned once more, muttering an apology and finishing her task as quickly as possible, restitching the wound and slathering it with ointments before wrapping it again with clean bandages.

Her job done, the woman lightly thunk the back of the elf's blonde head.

"And what did ya think ya were doin'!? Gettin' up from bed like that! Why, I should-"

She raised her hand to thump his head again, but Johan caught it before it connected, shooting his wife a slightly reprimanding look.

"I think what ya  _mean_ , Kylyn, is thank you for standin' by us in the fight, eh?"

She rolled her eyes, but did not attempt to hit the elf again. Legolas, himself, offered her a slightly sheepish smile.

"Sorry?"

She stared hard at the youth for several moments, but then she relaxed, something like a smile on her face in return.

"Yur forgiven , hun, 'nd thank you for standin' by us in the fight," she turned to her husband, "You happy now?"

And Johan laughed, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulder, something relieved and lighthearted in every one of their eyes, as they had managed to get past the obstacle alive and almost entirely whole.

And as the humans left the room, Kylyn turning her head and warning the elf settling himself on the couch to  _sleep or else_ , they all knew that it wasn't the end of their troubles- not even close- that the intruders could return, this time with more men, or any other countless number of problems, but they had jumped the first hurdle, and that was always the most difficult one.

(They hoped.)

And the light of the fire slowly flickered out and died, and the house's occupants slowly fell asleep, and all were unaware of the burning passions being risen deep within the village, a raging fire that was rising higher and higher with every passing moment, and one that would be a struggle to extinguish.

Carun was within the bar, sloshing his ale around his beaker, starring the many different men surrounding him in the eye, gesturing about as he told his false tales and over embellished stories.

"They have an elf! An evil little blighter, too, shot at me with no provocation. Me and my boys hardly escaped with our lives!"

One younger man leaned forward, eyes wide and more than a little tipsy.

"Is it true? 'Bout them elves livin' forever?"

Paton, standing in the corner, nursing his gallon of beer with a still slightly terrified look in his own dark brown orbs, their pupils still blown wide, finally looked up.

"I-I dunno, Marty, but this elf looked like a youngin', but his eyes… His eyes, they looked  _thousands_ of years old, all cold and cruel…."

The description sent shivers down the spines of the many people within the inn, there minds twisting the image of the young ef into some sort of terrible creature. They were frightened, for their own lives and the lives of their families and friends, the terror of the unknown and unexplained running through their veins. And more than one felt a seething jealousy for the immortal, for escaping death's clutches where they could not, and that jealously seethed and became envy, which in turn blossomed into hate.

Paton, unaware of the emotions he was causing within the seedy room, spoke onwards, a sort of horrified awe creeping into his voice. He was unaware of the lies behind his knowledge, force fed to him by Carun and those too greedy for their own good.

"And- And it was almost like he 'ad tricked Johan and Kylyn into liking 'im! They tried to protect 'im! Kylyn 'erself gave me a big 'ol knock on the head in his defense!"

The murmurings of the crowd grew louder, and Carun watched on with a satisfied gleam in his eye, one that went unnoticed as he stood from his seated stance, raising his mug of ale and roaring over the crowd.

"This elf- it's invadin' our village and attackin' our men without reason or warnin'! It needs ta go down!"

Silence.

The crowd shifted, sharing uneasy glances; no one wanted to confront the creature they had built up in their minds, a vicious thing of death and destruction, with eyes of evil and malicious intent.

And Carun leaned closer, over the table, his mouth set in a steady sneer.

"Don't you dare be cowards, folks; yur families, yur friends, they're all at  _risk_  if we leave this threat alone…."

And then, slowly, the men began to agree, backs standing a little straighter and eyes a little colder, ready to face the beast of their imaginations, never really knowing the truth, both behind the actually innocent figure they hunted and the actually greedy motivations of the man they followed.

And none of it bode well.

* * *

The trees, with furtive whispers, were reaching outwards, intent on the task that the Greenleaf had given them. They were to find an elf-  _any elf, any elf; no! Any elf except Greanleaf!_ \- and deliver the message.

_The Greanleaf was not dead. The Greanleaf was not captured. The Greanleaf's friends were gone, gone, gone-_  it made the Greanleaf very sad, made the trees very angry that the Greanleaf was sad _\- but the Greanleaf had escaped!_  (It made the trees very happy.)  _The Greanleaf needed help! But still safe. Safe, safe, safe._

_And the house, the house with the humans and the trees, by Old Oak and Older Maple, by the little lifewater that run down, down, down to many houses, but not_ too  _many. That was where the Greanleaf was. That was where he needed the help._

And so they searched, branching out tree after tree after tree, searching and searching and searching- North and South and East and West- until at last a young birch called out, sensing the light of many elves, excitement shivering up and down the tree's collective trunks.

And they began to call out, one after another, reaching for the elves and crowing their news again and again, so pleased with themselves for achieving the Greanleaf's task.

_The Greanleaf is safe!_

_The Greanleaf is safe!_

_The Greanleaf is safe!_

A warrior, dressed in the green and brown garb of the Woodland realm, straightened from his crouched position by the tree, patting it's trunk twice in thanks even as his mind spun with the new development. The prince was alive!

With agile feet, he rushed off on untraceable paths, maneuvering through the thick maze of branches and vines as easily as some people breathed. He dashed across the elegant bridge of stone, entering the palace and immediately hurrying through the many halls, to the center of the grand structure. Many would have gotten confused and lost within the labyrinth, but the warrior did not; it was his job to know.

At last he arrived at a grand platform, the large chamber echoing of a conference. On an intricate throne of antler and stone and green growth, sat a tall elf of long blonde hair and severe ice blue eyes, a delicate crown made of the nature he protected upon his head.

The warrior dashed across the narrow pathway that lead to the platform, eyes wide and breath coming fast in his throat in excitement. The members of the council looked up, curious of the interruption, but the warrior's eyes were only for the blonde elf on the throne, who slowly straightened in his chair.

"Ma'lord! The trees! They found him!"

And King Thranduil stood, rushing past the council and to the guard, brushing past him with a steady determination that could only develop from years of love and a desperate, desperate emotion that only arose from losing the source of that love.

A steady determination that arose from finally having real hope of finding it again.

And warrior and king left, leaving a band of council members behind in confusion.

The King was going to find his son, and  _nothing_  was going to stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple more chapters to go! Thank you all so much for the wonderful support! :3


	6. Silence Before the Nightmares Start

The nightmare began, as nightmares often did, in the middle of the night.

There was something about those nights, those nights when the sun had long since fled its perch in the sky and the moon and stars were hidden away from view by the rolling clouds of looming blackness above, that always seemed… off. As if the spirits of the dead had awakened and had decided to walk the earth, or as if the breath of life had been snuffed, leaving what was left cold and empty.

It was the small things that sent shivers up people's spines. The lack of noise from the ever chirping crickets, the quiet crooning bellows of a bullfrog far out of its season, the fireflies flashing bright and there, only to flicker out and to not shine again.

The trees, waving their long wooden limbs and thrashing to an invisible hurricane, even though the wind had long since died down.

It was the small things that indicated that a nightmare was about to begin, whether it be in reality or in the realm of small things

Like silence.

Silence was always a good indicator something was about to go wrong, especially when it was silence in moments where there should have been noise. It was the quiet, tremulous calm before a storm, the terrified tremors that grabbed at the lungs and made them lose their breaths, until there was no air to breath and no air to make any sound at all.

It had been three days since the intrusion of the home, and things had been so, so quiet.

To Legolas, the lack of it was everywhere. The trees murmured of tension and unease, the birds' songs were too soft and drawn, distant and far away. The animals had left, their tracks leaving but an imprint of their presence behind in the too-quiet glade.

Even the stream, trickling and chuckling it's way down from gravity's firm grasp, seemed to bubble just a little less, the once merry brook becoming cold and hard, water jagging against rock instead of bouncing and sliding over it.

This, Legolas knew from his lonely couch of a bed, lying still and distant in his own mind, chest a mess of heaving stinging and pain as he fought off the infection that set fire in his veins, making his thoughts waver and trill in uneven, confusing patterns.

The song of a swallow lost in the cold grasps of winter, long and distant and mournful, waiting for spring to breathe life into its chattering limbs.

Before, of course, it had been worse. Before it had been as if he was burning alive, unlucky enough that his overexertion during the intrusion and the reopening of his wounds had allowed the illness to creep back into his bones. It had been worse, because he hadn't even known he was alive through the fiery pain, and he hadn't even wanted to be if that was what he had to go through.

He didn't think either Kylyn or Johan had slept a wink as they had cared for him during those horrible, horrible two days and nights.

Now it was just too warm, too hot. Now, his head felt like mush and his thoughts were long and distant, but at least he could  _think_. Now, his limbs were heavy as lead, but at least he had some control over them at all.

Now, he knew he wasn't dead, and was aware enough to wish that it continued to be so.

(He would not let Turón's death be in vain. He would let none of their deaths be in vain. And he would not abandon his father; there had already been far too much death in their family anyways…)

Kylyn was besides him, mopping his brow with a cool wet cloth and making worried tutting noises. The rain was pouring outside, but Legolas could hardly hear it, still caught in the realm of half awareness and half dreaming, his mind stretching and reaching for somewhere far away, to the trees and to the sky and to the deep dark earth below.

And even the pouring rain was quiet, and it was in quiet that nightmares began.

" _-e'll be alright, 'm sure, 'ittle bugger's far too stubborn to le' a 'ittle fever to bring 'em down. Don't worry, Kylyn, 'll be fine_."

Even the voices were quiet in Legolas' tired, sleepy mind.

" _I know, Johan… He just needs to rest. He needs sleep. 'll be fine…_ "

The third day was coming to a close. The night was looming once more, angry thunder clouds crossing the sky at a rapid pace.

Unconsciously, the elf curled himself further into his blankets; he never had the best of luck when it came to storms…

_I- I can not. I would if I could, my prince, but there is no saving me now…_

The night was too quiet.

The night was too quiet, and even in sleep Legolas knew that it was in silence that nightmares approached, when the breath of the lungs got stolen and the trembling calm before the storm began.

He knew.

It was too bad that he was far too gone from reality- slipping down and down and down and under into the land of dreams and imagination- to tell anyone else.

* * *

_The horses speeded onwards into the too silent night, the moon flicking only ever so softly from it's hiding place in the clouds. The land was filled with shadows and darkness, lingering stretches of trees and tall grass, silently wavering as they passed._

_And rain. There was rain._

_Pouring, withering rain._

_The figures riding the horses were tall and lean, their expressions set grim and steady as the rode onwards through the great downpour, unheeding and uncaring to the wet droplets soaking their cloaks and splattering across their faces. The trees were murmuring of their concerns, the beginnings of fear seemingly settling in their trunks, and it only caused the leader of the riders to push forwards harder, longer._

_The leader's shining hair flickered gold in a sudden glimpse of moonlight, but then the clouds devoured the silver orb once more and the light was vanished._

_The soft glow radiating from the King did not, however and nor did it fade from his followers._

_Truly a light in the dark, they were, guiding themselves through the shadows._

_They rode onwards, and the trees continued to shift, and inside the King's head a mantra began to play, over and over again, a constant stream of worried phrases from a worried father._

_Please be safe, please hold on, Tithen Lass please be okay, please, please, please…._

_Please don't let me be too late._

_Not again._

_I cannot bear to mourn once again._

* * *

At a small cottage in the middle of an unusually quiet glade- one that was free of crickets and bubbling streams and other usual sounds of night life- hoarse whispers filled the air.

And the glade, so usually empty on nights like tonight, where the rain had fallen and dampness of the air still settled around everyone's throats, was filled with the lumbering forms of men.

Men, and their torches.

Tall canisters of oil were sloshed in their confines, spilling on slightly damp wood and pouring onto grass and onto window sills. No one dared enter the building, not after last time, and the only way to draw the figures out, according to the furtively whispering Carun as he directed his followers, would be to smoke them out.

Like a rabbit's den. Like a fox's den. Like an  _animal's_ den.

The trees were swinging furtively, angrily, confusedly, for they did not know what was going on, all they knew was that they did not like it, that the men were  _bad_ , that Greenleaf was away from them, too far away- both in distance and in consciousness- and that they could not reach him, that they could not warn him.

But they could warn someone else.

Quickly, a message was sent once more from tree to tree, from branch to branch, searching and searching for the travelling brigade of elves, searching for the Elven King, for the Greenleaf was in danger.

For the Elven KIng had to hurry. He had to hurry, because there was fear and anger and many, many bad things in the air, and the trees could sense that the unnatural silence that had lingered in their boughs, in their woods and in this glade, for so very long was trembling, ready to crack.

Carun smiled. It was an ugly smile, one where there was no mirth of amusement, only something cold and hard and apathetic. Something dark. Something wrong. Something no smile should ever be.

"Torch!?"

His voice was still a whisper, but it still seemed loud in the unwavering silence of the night. Commanding.

Inside the house, the occupants slept on, unaware of the danger that awaited them, of the shadows lingering at their door.

Slowly, the darkened figure knelt down by a wet patch of wood at the base of the house, towards the back. It was wet because of more than just the rain from earlier that day. It was wet from the flammable liquid splashed all over it.

Carun, wicked grin still set on his face, lowered the torch, yellow flames flickering ominously in the dark.

All it took was a spark.

* * *

Legolas woke up, and he was burning again, trapped in that too hot heat that left his head in pounding and his chest throbbing as his lungs clenched, because all too suddenly it was just  _too much_.

However, the clotting of his throat and the horrid, suffocating smell in his nose was new.

It was… the taste on his tongue, the smell assaulting his senses, it was acrid in every way. Dead.  _Wrong_.

His chest heaved. He coughed.

Someone was shaking his shoulder.

"-golas! Legolas, wake up, lad!"

His eyes blinked open only for them to snap shut but moments later, his vision accosted by the dark smoke wafting through the burning building. It was too hot,  _too hot_ , his brain feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton, and he could hardly see even when he managed to squint his eyes open one more. The flames licking at the walls casted wavering shadows and stretching shapes, the ash and smoke covering and filling the once empty, clean air. It was incredibly hot, burning almost, and Legolas could almost feel it searing his skin, and he was choking on the smoke, on thin air, because there wasn't enough, and, and-

And Johan was in front of him, Kylyn standing behind her husband holding his bow and quiver and what appeared to be some sort of sack of precious hastily grabbed items, and his eyes were leaking defensive tears as they tried to get rid of the dust and ash bothering them and so the older man's figure was slightly blurred, but the elf could still understand what was wanted of him.

They had to get up. They had to get out.

Sitting up was hard. Sitting up made his chest burn for an entirely different reason than the flames devouring the living room around them. Standing up was…

The less said about standing up the better.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed onto the man's forearms and hauled himself up, hissing from behind closed lips as the terrible pain coursed through his veins, and he only just resisted the urge to collapse to the ground.

His eyes smarted and another wretched cough tore from his throat, his chest heaving in miserable agony as the stitches strained at his side.

Slowly, painfully, they stumbled down the hallways and towards door, Johan murmuring quiet encouragements that the blonde could not quite understand under his breath the whole time, Legolas feeling the streaks of sweat beading at his brow. Something was twisting cruelly in his chest, and coughs were escaping from all three of them as they finally arrived at the front entrance, which Johan quickly stepped forwards and shoved open, briefly abandoning Legolas to his one-footed, unsteady perch as he dealt with the burning barrier to their freedom.

Legolas' eyes squeezed shut, smoke and ash causing tears to rise unbidden yet again as he wavered on his own two feet, the black cloudy air choking him.

The door gave, and someone-  _Johan?_ \- was grabbing his forearm, dragging him out into the open and out of the thick smoke, allowing air to properly enter his lungs even if the heat was still burning strong on his back and his leg and side were throbbing in a constant painful rhythm, harmonizing with the pounding of his head.

From his spot on the ground, he felt Kylyn stumble out besides him. He heaved a breath of relief- both because he could do so and because they were all out and they were all safe- and then realized that there was something wrong.

His ears were ringing, loud and piercing in his head, but even so he could tell that the place was too loud. The crackling of the flames was understandable, as was the deep hacking breaths of Johan and Kylyn besides him, but there shouldn't have been more beyond that.

And yet there was.

There was the stomping of too many feet on the soft earth and the gruff voices of too many men filling the air and there were too many desperate angry cries from the trees, and it was all growing louder and louder until-

Until someone had a firm grip on his bicep and was pulling, forcing him to to stand unsteadily on his own injured foot again, and even as he rose from the ground he could feel his heart sink because this was wrong, this was wrong, Johan wouldn't treat him like this, Johan didn't smell like that- like pipeweed and tar and  _burning_ \- and, and-

He opened his eyes.

A mob of angry humans stared back at him.

Legolas resisted the urge to close his eyes again and go boneless. He was far too tired to deal with this, was in far too much pain to deal with this. He didn't  _want_  to deal with this, not now, not ever.

But he couldn't slump to the ground. Couldn't just escape. Not now. Not when the trees were screaming so loudly, not when Kylyn and Johan were standing still and tall and straight, tears in their eyes as they watched their home burn, not even caring for the knives on their throats as men who did not know him watched the elf like one might watch a beast in the night.

Not when he couldn't die, not when he couldn't let his friends' sacrifices be in vain, not when he could not leave his father alone.

An dhe would fight. He would rise up and knock the cruel man in front of him to the ground,but he could not. He had the feeling that the only keeping him upright was the grip around his biceps and chest, and that without the support he would topple to the ground. Besides, even if he  _could_ , Kylyn and Johan had knives to their throats-  _he would not risk their lives, he would not, could not, no more death could lay on his thin shoulders_ \- and there was an entire mob of other people to deal with.

So Legolas stood still on his straining foot, trying to breathe in deep and not quite managing it, his fingers flexing for his bow- which had transition to the hands of the younger boy from before, the one they called Paton- and his eyes glaring steady at the smirking man in front of him.

"Human."

The word came out as a rasp, but still somehow strong and steady and  _cold_. The kind of voice that makes others shudder in a quiet terror, a thick sounding word that crept into the shadows and filled in the empty spaces of the dark.

But Carun did not shake, despite the urge to do so. Carun just grinned like a maniac, reaching forward and grabbing the elf by his chin, heedless of the sharp knife directed at the blonde's neck, eyes cruel and smug.

"Not so tough now, are ya elf?"

Legolas did not answer, simply stared. The trees were still screaming, loud and fearful and angry, thrashing to a nonexistent storm. The house behind him was still burning, falling away in flecks of ash as memory after memory was consumed by the fire. The mob in front of him was agitated and loud, unable to see beyond the built up image of monster they had created in their minds.

And Legolas did not want to deal with this. Never this. And so he stayed quiet.

But the trees did not.

The trees did not stay silent, they reached out, and stretched, message after panicked message spreading far and wide, because the Greenleaf was in danger and the Elven King had to hurry even faster now. He had to hurry _,_  and  _hurry, and hurry_ -

He had to hurry, for otherwise he would be too late.

The silence of the world had been broken, and the nightmare had begun.


	7. Forest Fires

_The silence of the world had been broken, and the nightmare had begun._

Fire. The world was on fire around him, burning bright, burning hot. Everything was flames and pain and  _heat,_ and Legolas stood as still and as tall as he could and watched as everything surrounding him surrendered to the scorching mass of destruction.

His breath rattled in his throat, smoke making his eyes water and his lungs rebel.

It almost felt as if the fire had gotten under his skin, blazing heated trails up and down his veins, sparks of agony invading his senses as he was forced to stand on his injured leg and the arrow wound in his side stretched and ached and  _screamed._

Sweat was beading on his brow. The world seemed almost indistinct and faraway, and there was nothing Legolas wanted more than to  _sleep._

But no,  _no._  He could not, he would not. The fire was still burning on around him, the trees were still screaming and yelling for him and about him and to each other, Kylyn and Johan were still staring in a sort of terrible grief at their home slowly being consumed before them, and the thick smell of sweat and dirt and  _man_ still surrounded him, angry voices and angry bodies, the whole word alight with their fury.

And Carun. Carun was in front of him, fingers gripping Legolas' chin and knife at Legolas' throat, a cruel, wrong smile on his lips and an even crueler light shining out from his mad eyes.

_Not so tough now, are ya elf?_

This was wrong, this was wrong, and Legolas wanted no part with it.

But he had no choice to go on. Not this time.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

He closed his eyes.

There was a painful slap resounding off his cheek, but Legolas hardly felt it. The infection from his wounds was a raging storm inside of him, his head pounding and his thoughts foggy. The thick smoke was making it hard to concentrate, hard to focus, even in a situation like this, even when his hurts roared at him to sit back down, even as his heart yearned for home and his father's strong arms.

He was so tired. He just wanted to  _sleep._

His knees buckled slightly, but he managed to continue standing, if only because of the harsh grip on his bicep keeping him upright.

He breathed, in, and out. Trying to ignore the prickling in his throat from the smoke. Trying to ignore the pain flaring through his body from his still healing wounds. Trying to ignore the screams of the trees. Trying to ignore the horrid breath of the man before him.

A plan. He needed a plan.

But his thoughts… they flitted away from him as if they were on the wings of birds swooping away from a leaping cat. There, there, and then gone. Fast as he could pull the strings of ideas together, they fell apart, tangled and broken and unfollowable.

It was so  _hot._ It was so very hot and the trees were screaming, and Kylyn and Johan were crying, and all this noise in his head was making it so very hard to  _think._

And he was  _so, so tired._

Legolas breathed, in and out, in and out-

Kylyn had turned on Carun, eyes fierce and wet, face blotched with tears even as she grit her teeth and struggled against the people holding her, angered beyond caring of the threat of the knife.

"You  _monster,"_ she snarled, lunging, yelling, so very  _hurt,_ "you complete  _monster-_ How  _dare_  you,  _how dare you-_ "

Suddenly, there was a slapping sound, and Legolas's eyes popped open just in time to see Kylyn try and bite the hand that had hit her, her hair in disarray and cheek stinging, Carun smiling smugly above her as Johan yelled in protest.

He tensed.

The man holding him frowned, tightening his grip, but suddenly it didn't matter. It didn't matter that Legolas was dead on his feet, that he was exhausted, that his wounds were flearing with infected pain. It did not matter that he could not think straight for all the screams of the trees surrounding him. It did not matter that he was outnumbered, that he was afraid.

This was  _Kylyn._ Kylyn, who had cared for him, who had helped him, who had healed him and treated him with kindness just when he truly thought the world had gone completely grey and cruel. Kylyn, who Johan loved. Kylyn, who deserved the world, who did not deserve this cruelty of seeing her beloved home crumble into pieces, who did not deserve this wretched man and his wretched ways.

Paton had his bow. The man stood several feet away. Perhaps, if he was human, this would be out of reach.

But Legolas was not human.

With a sudden strength that surprised his captor, Legolas tore out of the man's arms and turned, smashing his elbow into the figure's temple before diving out of the way of a second ruffian's attack. He rolled, lashed out with his foot to take down another one of the men and coming to a stop in front of Paton, stumbling only slightly.

There must have been something in his eyes, some crazed determination of a wild thing cornered and truly desperate, because the young human in front of him dropped the weapons into Legolas's snatching grasp without a second thought.

Good.

A millisecond of time to think. The young human stared at him with wide, scared eyes that reflected the trees burning all around them. Paton was barely grown and Legolas looked at him and thought  _I should kill you_ but couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

A second of connection. Blue eyes meet brown and perhaps both of them knew that this was mercy, not kindness.

The elf delivered a swift punch to the human's stomach, knocking the air out of him and sending him tumbling to the ground, and then turned to face the rest of the crowd, arrow notched and bow ready.

Perhaps, in another lifetime, if Legolas was not so wounded and distracted and in pain, or if Legolas was older and more capable of controlling his own body, this would be the end of it. A sleek green arrow would fly out into the night, and Legolas- who never missed, not really, not even when he was young and untested- would strike down the human's leader and disappear into the shadows, fending off the rest with all the silent swiftness of a Mirkwood warrior.

But this was not another lifetime, and Legolas  _was_ young, Legolas  _was_ injured, and distracted, and in terrible foggy pain…

And Legolas… Legolas was too slow.

His arrow was notched. His bow was ready.

But Carun was smiling that twisted smile at him, eyes gleaming dementedly in the dark, the flare from the fire reflecting off the steel of a sharp blade held against Johan's exposed neck.

"One move, elf, and the old man dies."

All it took was a moment.

Legolas hesitated, chest heaving, Johan staring at him with old eyes that were both fearful and angry and almost strangely calm. The elf's senses were wavering in and out of focus, his mind trying to concentrate on pinpoints and forgetting his wider existence, and he had just enough awareness to recognize Johan's eyes widening as a bad sign before something hard and solid smashed against his head.

His eyes blinked open, blearily, face pressed against soft ground that smelled of wet earth and smoke.

All around him the trees were screaming.

He was so,  _so_ tired.

Words, words, Legolas tried to listen but he couldn't quite catch on. There was anger in the air and fire in his heartbeat, in his  _bones,_ burning pain from doing too much too fast, none of his prior adrenaline to keep him going.

His ears were ringing.

Someone was shouting at him,  _for_  him. Concern coloured their voices like a river water over rock, smothering it, drowning it, wearing it down.

Boots on harried ground, pounding footsteps. The smell of ash, the taste of it on his tongue.

Legolas' world had dissolved into distorted snaps shots and pain.

"...tie it up," he heard Carun command, felt rough ropes on his skin.

_Pain, pain-_

Everything, everywhere, was suddenly too much. Legolas breathed shaking breaths and his eyes slipped shut, giving in all too readily to the world of nothingness once more.

* * *

Johan watched the remains of his ruined home burn down into nothing with a sort of distant grief stricken shock. He and Kylyn had made that house together, had put in blood and sweat and tears. There had been laughter interwoven into those old walls, countless memories and countless heartbeats, and now-

Now it was gone.

Gone, just like Legolas, tied up and too pale and bloody, thrown into the back of a horse drawn cart in order to be taken who knows where. The young man sent to sit with him-  _Paton? Was it?-_ had shot him a guilty glance as he had clambered in besides the prisoner, but when Johan had sent him a pleading look the boy had turned his head away.

Where would they be taking Legolas? A slave trade? Enemy lands? Prison?

The old man hung his head.

Wherever they took the elf, it would be nowhere good.

Johan swallowed guilt, hot, shaking guilt, and blinked tears out of his eyes. He had failed him, that small young elf with eyes too old and hollow for such a youthful appearance. It wasn't fair. It wasn't  _fair._

Legolas was gone. Carun had took him.

They had been left behind.

He turned his wrists to grab at his wife's fingers, to hold them tight. There was fire all around them, the thin flames of their burning cottage catching onto the living branches of trees and not letting go. They were tied up, chained to a trunk, and Johan had never wanted this for her, for his spitfire of a wife. She would never deserve this, burning alive as the heat crept ever closer, the smoke so thick around them it was hard to even think straight.

Not in a million years would she deserve this.

He squeezed her fingers. She squeezed his back.

There was nothing left to say, all words spoken before the ash in the air became too much. There was nothing left to  _do,_ all struggles and curses and rages already done.

There were no regrets.

They had lived long and good. They had lived together.

They would be together in this, too.

Johan breathed, breathed, closed his eyes-

When he opened them, there was a figure standing before him, tall and majestic and  _there_ without a sound. Johan stared into ice blue eyes, the way that pale hair settled under a crown of thorns, the way that the long cloak the figure wore seemed to hardly touch the ground.

There was a milenia in those old blue orbs. There were ages gone and spent. There was knowledge beyond Johan's wildest dreams.

The elf leaned forwards, something fierce and deadly in his gaze.

"Tell me," King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm asked, voice as cold as mountain tops, as steady as stone, "where is my son?"

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo? What didya think? Good? Bad? Okay? I'm curious! (Especially because I really am not an OC kind of person and they are surprisingly difficult to write? Have any suggestions on that?)
> 
> Either away, I hope you all enjoyed! I'll post the next chapter sooner or later...
> 
> Reviews are loved and deeply appreciated, as are Favorites and Follows! :) But the best thing of all is the fact that you took the time to read at all! YOU ARE AWESOMEEEEEE!
> 
> Till next time! :D
> 
> -Mashpotatoe Queen


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